A Dance with Shadows
by Cicci Green
Summary: A selfish girl puts her nose into other's business one time too many, and finds herself tangled with the futures of the infamous Paris Opera House's present and former inhabitants.
1. A beauty, a deal and winnings

**Here we go again. This is my previous fic Shadowdancer, that I, after a very smart review decided to redo a little. I've brought another perspective into the story, and introduced some of the Phantom characters earlier. I probably was foolish not to do it before, but well… I like writing about Tayce. I hope I'm not going to turn her into a Mary Sue, and I'll try REALLY hard not to. I loathe Mary Sues.**

Note: This is NOT going to be a EOW. I don't believe I can write it, and I believe that Erik and Christine belong together. My main character and Erik wouldn't fit together at all. And she's not gonna end up with Raoul either. If you noticed the genre of this, it's not romance. That doesn't mean I won't have love in it, but well… You'll just have to see. And I'll have to see too… :O

**-----------------------------------------------------------------**

**Late summer 1882 – The de Chagny Mansion **

_He bowed over her hand, and held it in his **just** a moment too long. She laughed, that soft pearly laugh he had heard only a few times, and quickly drew back her hand, feigning ignorance.  
My, she was a **Beauty**! Even quite much pregnant, her eyes shone, and her bosom rose temptingly with every breath she took. He admired it as she laughed. How did she look without clothes, he wondered… That mass of brown, glistening curls was pinned up in a style both innocent and fascinating, and he longed to see it unbound. It showed of her neck and shoulders, leaving them bared for the world to see. He noticed it also left her small, delicate ears exposed. How very intriguing…_

_He forced himself to look away from his new business partner's lovely wife, delighting only a second on the scent that her rose perfume had left on his hand. Raoul de Chagny. A very intelligent man. No doubt about it. But nearly as innocent as his naïve wife. If he was lucky, as closed the deal with le vicomte de Chagny, he would be so damned filthy rich, he would never have to think about money or sucking up to nobles and their likes… But if sucking up meant flirting with such a dear little creature as Christine de Chagny, he gladly did it. Very gladly, actually, he thought as Christine directed another radiant smile towards him. _

_The rest of the dinner passed uneventfully. He briefly considered trying to seduce the beautiful madame but decided not to press his luck as he saw Raoul tenderly putting his hand on the slight swelling of his wife's stomach.  
A man couldn't have everything at the same time. He reflected on the fact. Oh well, it was always a day tomorrow. And what was urgent now was to find a decent looking whore, quickly._

_He excused himself, and promised to return soon. Once again, he deliberately held on to Christine's a moment longer than necessary. As the door closed behind him, he caught a glimpse of the couple embracing, her head resting against his shoulder, and his head resting upon hers. What a sweet, happy ending._

_The party had reached the certain level where the guest either moved on to the next party, or calmed down and went into a dirtier mood. He looked around, disheartened by the lack of beautiful invitees. He sighed, and looked around for a glass of brandy when a soft, deep voice interrupted his search.  
_

"_Miguel" Hope, anxiety, and something else he couldn't decipher sounded in that voice. He turned around.  
"Tayce, dear child." She frowned a little at this. Good.  
"I've been looking for you! Where've you been?" accusingly this time.  
"None of your business." A deeper frown this time.  
"I **want** to know!" God, but she was childish! He didn't know why he bothered with her. He had pitied her a little, and her badly covered crush on him had amused him. Though it wasn't like she was anything to look at, far from it. But well, he had always liked little sport, and if it meant making this little chit irritated, gladly. _

"_You wouldn't understand anyway."  
"You don't know that…" she pouted. She didn't pout well. He observed her eyes were a little glazed over, and her words a bit slurred. Tayce was obliviously drunk. He couldn't say he minded it. It was a welcome change. There was something in those sharp, perceptive eyes of hers that he didn't like. It made him nervous. He was quite sure she saw right through him at times.  
"No matter, darling!" he smiled and pulled her onto his lap as he sat down in a closest unoccupied chair. Tayce complied. She probably was too intoxicated to do anything else. Which meant she most likely wouldn't remember anything in the morning. Perfect. It was time to get rid of Tayce Martineau before she became more of a nuisance to him. Women tended to become that rather quickly._

_He pressed a kiss to her yielding lips, and as he had suspected she was too influenced to do anything but to submit. It was strange really, that a girl like Martineau should be interested in him She had some money, and should have been betrothed. He knew a little about her parents (weren't they dead? He thought so, at least. Not that he cared very much, but still) and they had been methodical people, and should have gotten a fiancé for their beloved daughter. He had never heard of one, and suitors didn't really surround her. He almost snorted aloud. Tayce, with suitors fighting for her hand. Never! Mlle Mariana de Bergerac was another matter… The blond beauty made him lick his lips. He would have to pay a visit to her soon… But now he had a different matter to take care of. Not as pleasurable as a visit to Mariana's of course; that woman could have been Aphrodite herself, but not entirely unsatisfactory. _

__

He continued to kiss her slowly.** He** was winning now, and he knew the perfect way to end this. He quickly buttoned up her bodice, hearing her half moan, half shocked gasp. With quick practiced efficiency, he slipped his hand under her dress, bent forward and pretended to whisper something in her ear. Then he slipped the short girl of his lap, and heard with delight the whispers and murmurs among the chaperone's. He just had a few small words to the right people to say, and then the honour loving little Tayce Martineau would be out of Paris for good. 

_--------------------------------------------------------------------------_

**_Okay, the first new chapter of this fic. I'm putting up the old ones too, and well… You can just review if you like, and it would make me VERY happy._**

This is going to be told in Tayce's POV mostly, and I'm not going to change that. Erik and the other will play a very important role (he won't be introduced yet for a few chapters though…) but it's still Tayce's story. And that's that.  

Please, please review and make my day. 


	2. Introducing Tayce

**Okay, the second chapter.:) No major things changed here, just some small facts to make it fit in with Miguel's story.  
You might notice that Tayce and Miguel have different views of things, and what really happened. It's supposed to be that way. If you have two persons, they don't experience the same situation the same way.  
I don't know if I'm going to succeed with this, but if this doesn't work, well, then I'll just have to redo it again. I have a plot, I have everything planned. And it's gooood. ;)**

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I had always possessed what my mother used to call an unnatural and disastrous curiosity for things that were not my business. I remember the games I played as a young girl. When we played Hide and Seek, my friends would never let me count because I always looked. I couldn't stand being left in the dark, without any clue to where the others were heading.

When I grew older, I got less outspoken about my curiosity though it had to no degree lessened. My mother came from an old noble family, but had run away with the neighbour's boy, and followed him to the convent where he studied to become a priest. They later married, and her parents in the end gave their blessing to the happy, young couple. They had a good marriage, a love match, something very unusual among nobility. Sadly, my mother only had one child, me. She took ill soon after my birth, and the illness prevented her from having anymore children. This hurt my father very much. He loved children, and I believe that he never got over that my birth was the reason that he could have no more. My mother spoiled me a little, since I was her only child. My father was often busy with his work, but my mother educated me in being a lady. She did not want me to become a priest wife, but marry back into nobility. She had gotten a decent dowry from her parents when she married, and she used it to give me all the proper schooling that were required. Now when I was to become something of a lady and attract suitors, my mother forbade me to pry so much into things that I had no business looking into. Of course, I didn't listen. I just learned how to hide my prying. I became an observer instead of a doer, letting my eyes take in every last detail of everything I saw. When I accidentally told on of my wealthier suitors something I shouldn't have known and ruined all prospects of marrying him, I decided to hide my skills even more.

You might see me, now that you've heard part of my story, as a cold and unfeeling person. I assure you, that is not the case. I am simply guarded. I _can_ feel and I _do_ feel as much as everyone else.

Anyway, when I was sixteen, my mother and father died suddenly out of an illness that nearly claimed my life too. I finally recovered, but I had lost a great deal of weight, were very weak and had no immediate family left. An aunt of mine made it possible for me to move to Paris and since my family had been quite rich, even though my father only was a priest, my first months in Paris were pleasant ones. I spent most of my time in the more wealthy parts of Paris, enjoying myself with parties, dinners and walks. I met with the social elite of the city, learning how to converse properly, how to flirt, how to be courted and how to dance and smile without making implications of more severe nature than the one I intended. I had several crushes on the wealthy, charming young men, One of the was called Miguel Mantillo, and he was the second son of the Portuguese ambassador in France. I fell instantly in love with him the first time I saw him. It was really love at first sight, only that he didn't love me. I was dead shy around him. Miguel had coal black hair and eyes, and was one of the most handsome and popular gentlemen in Paris. His voice, oh god, his voice. It was torturous. His voice was like piece of the most expensive and delicious chocolate, dark, secretive and filled with the sweetest, slowly melting crème. It was seducing. Miguel Mantillo was seducing. Had it ever existed an Ares, the handsome Greek war god, it must have been Miguel. He made me want to faint, whenever he turned around and looked me in the eyes, uttering a joke or a laugh, usually at my expense. He hurt me with his hard words, often making me cry once home in the loneliness of my room. But I still loved him. And miraculously, he one day started to show an interest in me. He asked me to dance with him at the annual Christmas ball, not once, but three times. After that, he showed interest in me. Not a day passed when I didn't see him. I should have known then, that nothing good could come from it, but I was blinded with happiness. He cared for me! _Me_, of all the ladies he could chose from. He took me out on dinners, to the theatre, the opera, everything. I feel ashamed when I think about it. I, the observer, should have known what was going on. I didn't.

Since I had no relatives in Paris, I lived alone, without a proper chaperone. This was not very good for my reputation, but somehow, I managed to keep it rather clean. Miguel destroyed that. Suddenly there were rumours about me and our relationship all over Paris. In the late summer, one of my friends in Paris, Lucille de Clousseu burst into my room, shrieking that I had betrayed her trust and that Miguel was hers! I didn't understand at first, I was so sure that Miguel only was interested in me. One more time a fool. I tried to find out what he had said about me and I was shocked by my discoveries. Apparently, he had found out that my founds were limited and had spread out that I accompanied him as his mistress. Or rather his whore, for that was what everyone said about me. I tried to contact Miguel, but I couldn't find him. When I got home, I saw that someone had broken into my apartment and stolen what money I had left, together with the more expensive part of my wardrobe and my jewellery. With ruined reputation and no money, there was nothing left for me to do but to pack what little I had left and go out to find work somewhere. That leads me to where I am today. But how can an observer survive in a world ruled by doers?

**Reviews are _lovely._**


	3. Kind eyes and small girls

**Third chapter. There's not much to say, I'm afraid. No changes in here, either. I want to write as fast as I could to get the story started and get Erik in and such things…**

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Gaston Leroux, his relatives, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Susan Kay. Tayce, Miguel, Marie Dubois, and the characters around them are mine.

**----------------------------------------------------------------------------**

**Somewhere in the merchants' Paris, late summer 1882**

_Well,_ I thought, _Here I am_. I looked at the bustling street lined with fancy shops. Around me, I could see oily shopkeepers watching for potential customers , small thieves nicking apples and bread, fine gentlemen in black coats and hats… I looked carefully at all the faces, but none of them were familiar, thankfully. Not that I thought any they would be, all of my earlier acquaintances were asleep at this hour, after a long night of dinners, dance, and for the men, most likely some hay-tumbling. The aristocratic habitation of Paris were not available in he mornings, they were people of the night, just as much as the thieves and whores. Everyone knew what light-shy business that went on behind closed doors, but no one talked about it. Not even my own class did, even though the rumours concerned them. Or my former class. I hardly suspected them to count me among themselves anymore. May be it, that many of them were loathsome creatures, many were still my friends, I belonged with them. I did belong with them, before I met Miguel. I shuddered. I was happy that I didn't meet anyone, since I had heard what everyone thought of me, my only choice would be to disappear completely. With a deep sigh, I picked up my back and stepped out of the shadows, preparing myself for the task at hand. I had to find a job. I really didn't know where to start, I had never had to do this before. I searched my mind. Where in heaven's name was it possible for a girl my age to work? In a shop, perhaps, as a shop assistant. I smiled grimly, as a small grocery store caught mind my eye, and I decided that I would start there.

"Excuse me, monsieur… Monsieur? Could I… Talk to you for a second?"  
A livid blush stained my usually pale cheeks. I felt _ridiculous._

"_GET a grip on yourself!", _I mentally reprimanded myself. If I couldn't even ask for a job, how would I ever get one? I resumed my tries, nudging the shopkeeper slightly. He turned to me, and I inwardly sighed with relief; his face was open and kind, and a friendly smile lit it and make his eyes twinkle.

"G'day, young mademoiselle! What can I do for you today?" I felt somewhat comforted by his kind nature, and took a deep breath.

" I was wondering if you have any work for me, monsieur?" I nearly groaned with irritation, how pathetic it sounded! A compassionate look entered his eyes.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, mademoiselle, but there's no work for a young lady such as yourself in a shop like this. You might wanna try at ol' lady Marie's. She's looking for a new maid, she told me just yesterday. A fine girl like yourself would surely get the job." He smiled at me, as I thanked him and started to walk away. I could feel his eyes boring into my back, and I wondered if he knew who I was. I hoped not.

My thoughts went back to what he had told me. A maid. I couldn't possibly work as a maid! I swallowed. I could. Working as a maid would probably be relatively easy, and I would get somewhere to live. It was actually a perfect place. I smiled, a new courage rising in me, and I went down the street in search of the home of "Ol' lady Marie".

I walked quickly, a tune humming inside me at the prospect of getting a job, however insulting. To think that **I** should work as a maid, when one instead should assist me was hard for me to accept. I, who actually had blood in me from both French and English nobles, was forced to act on someone command, the mere thought made me blush with shame. And then I blushed even more when I realised how extremely foolish I was .I had to wipe all that snobbish manner from my soul, or I would have to bear the pain of my lost pride when someone found out how I had been and told the world, and Miguel about it. He would gloat if he saw me assisting a lady, of the lesser nobility I as sure this Marie was, with her dressing, hair and baths. Very bad idea. Suddenly, the work prospect didn't seem as bright anymore. I was beginning to question my sanity in this question, perhaps everything would be easier if I just jumped into the Seine, and became a sacrifice for young betrayed noble females?

I almost giggled. To become a sacrifice of this kind, one had to be beautiful or very charming. I studied my reflection in a window. With my shockingly red hair, a heritage from my part English father, I was neither beautiful nor charming. I was cute, if one should exaggerate. My hair did give me quite an original look, and my pale skin, which I couldn't expose to any kind of sunshine without getting burned, was almost flawless. But my eyes were a dull green, my body neither elegant nor tempting. I was short, with a natural plumpness that made most dresses that weren't expertly sewn ill-fitting. Needless to say, I wasn't very proud of myself. My somewhat decent fortune was the only thing potential husbands had been looking for; I was no reputed beauty that men drooled after. I was intelligent; most people said when they met me. "But sadly, a brain is no use for a lady.", was what they added after they'd made their first statement. I was brought up to attract suitors, and to look pretty and to run a household. Not to become a scholar. My education in the academic area came mostly from my father. He had taught me economy, English, literature, biology, religion. I loved the power the knowledge came me. With my natural curiosity, I had no trouble in finding the books he thought too hard for a girl to read. Even my father was subject to the discriminating views about women. But he did treat me like an equal, not a stupid little girl. Perhaps that was why I loved him so much and missed him the most when my parents died. I loved my mother too, of course, she was an intelligent woman, but she had learned how to hide it. I can't remember exactly how many times she told me to leave the important business to the men, and learn to how to converse at dinner parties instead. I _didn't_ want to. I learned every lesson my mother taught me because I had to. The lessons didn't make me a more attractive woman, or made the dresses fit better. I never felt like a _real _lady. Until now, when I lost the opportunity to be one. It was interesting, how we don't realize how much certain things mean to us until we lose it. Ironic.

So an eternity long bath in the Seine wasn't a very good idea. Truth to tell, I didn't even want to, hadn't even really considered the possibility. I did not want to die. I wanted to live; I wanted to show the world and myself that Miguel hadn't totally ruined my life. And I bloody well would. _Courage, _I whispered to myself, digging in my pocket for a coin to pay a guide. A somewhat clean girl, perhaps thirteen or fourteen years old, with the pinched look of someone who hasn't been eating properly for a long time, caught my attention, and I hurried towards her.

"Excuse me, I was wondering if you could show me the way to a Lady Marie?"

She looked up at me. Somewhere deep inside of me, it felt good to be taller than someone; since such a thing was very unusual. She only looked at me, and nodded when I showed her my coin. The girl started to walk down the street, her feet, dressed in heavy shoes made of wood, clapping against the stone. She took to the left in to a small, dirty street, apparently a shortcut, and got out again on a big, fancy avenue. Obviously, I had been wrong in my assumption that Lady Marie was a poor woman. The girl I had hired as my guide stopped outside a big, grey stone house, curtsied a little, and ran away. I didn't even have time to thank her.

----------------------------------------

**I'll bake you cookies if you review? **


	4. How did you meet?

**Time for a little Miguel again. It's a bit short and abrupt, but I'm tired… :P**

**Disclaimer: Everything you recognize belongs to Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber and Susan Kay.**

**------------------------------------------------------ **

_Everything had gone according to plan. Perfectly, actually. Tayce was gone, and he was getting closer each second to close the his deal with Raoul de Chagny. As Miguel wandered down the streets of the fancy part of Paris on his way to the de Chagny's town house, he almost felt like whistling. In a few months time, he would be a rich man. He could almost smell the money, and he rubbed his fingers together, aching to relish in the feeling of paper bills in his hands. **Soon.** _

_He rang the door bell, and was let in by a stiff, formal butler, probably an old family servant. He looked like he could dote on the precious _vicomte. __

"What is your business here, Monsieur?"

_  
"I'm here to see the _vicomte, _is_ _he in?" he replied. The butler thought for a moment or two._

_  
"No, Monsieur, I'm sorry. But he is expected back at any moment now. _Madame de Vicomtess_ is in the drawing room. Do you wish to wait with her?" A moment alone with Christine. **Hell yes.**_

_He was shown into the room, and Christine rose, looking slightly nervous, to greet him.  
"Monsieur Mantillo! What a pleasure, are you here to see Raoul?" He smiled, and kissed her hand._

"_I assure you, Madame, the pleasure is entirely **mine.** Yes, I'm here to discuss a thing or two with him, but I heard he's out. Maybe I should return another time?" He looked down at her, flashing her a smile he often used on women, with positive effect._

"_Oh no, not at all! Please stay, I must admit I feel a little lonely. Maybe you could tell me about Portugal? You are from there, are you not?" Miguel felt like groaning. Always, always stories about Portugal. He hated it there. Why the hell do they think he moved here for?_

"I'd bore you within a moment, madame de Chagny. Why don't you tell me about you and Raoul? How did you to meet? It must have been very romantic, he speaks very highly of you." She paled a little, he thought, and her hands were not entirely steady.

"It's not much to tell really. We met as children, in Sweden, and reunited here in Paris and got married." She spoke quickly, and it was obvious that this wasn't the whole story. He suddenly felt curious. Who was this beauty, really? Sweden, she said, but what more?

His thoughts were interrupted when Raoul entered the room, smiling as usual. Miguel decided not to think more about who the mysterious dark little woman was, and focused on his businesses. They were all that mattered now. Money first, women later.

_-----------------------------------------------_

**Ladila…. That little purple button, you know…. It doesn't take long… **


	5. Enter: Madame Marie Dubois

**This is a LONG chapter (at least for being me… ;)) But it was best to put it up as one chapter. I felt like that at least. .:)**

Disclaimer. No, I'm not making any money, I'm just trying to become a better writer, and amuse myself. I'm 16, I live in Sweden, really… 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Looking up at the house, my, hopefully, future home, if one could call it that, I felt a shiver run down my spine. The house was grey, with no ornaments or decorations. The door was grandly bordered with dark grey, almost black, stone pillars that made the town house look almost as a castle. Another unusual thing was that it had no close neighbours; the nearest house was a few meters away. _Very_ unusual in a crowded city like Paris.

I didn't like the look of the house at all. It made me feel trapped, almost caught in cage. It wasn't a very good first expression. My father, god bless him, had taught me to never to judge by first impressions, but this house made me wonder. I got the distinct feeling that if I went into this house, I'd never be able to leave it again and still remain the person I had been when I entered it.

With my father's face before my eyes and his voice ringing in my ears, I walked to the door, and rang a bell that sat just beside the doorframe. The bell was black, with a long, thick chain attached to it. The sound it made was dark and hollow. A few seconds after I'd rung the bell, the door opened and a tall servant, whom I estimated to be about forty years old, appeared. He was very thin, and his head almost bumped into the top of the doorframe. He had only a few black strands left in his otherwise silver hair, and he regarded me with hard, blackbrown eyes. He seemed to judge if I was worth speaking to, or if he should just slam the door in my face. After a moment, his hard expression lessened. I seemed to have passed his examination. I had been surprised if I hadn't. The clothes I wore were old, but they had been of very fine quality when they were made. It was very hard to take me for a beggar.

"Mademoiselle.", he addressed me, after a moment's thought. He obviously didn't think me old (or married!) enough to be called Madame, which made me feel a little better about myself. I still had _some_ of my nobility left in how I carried myself. Pride was everything in my circles. Not even Miguel had managed to make me lose all my pride.

"Mademoiselle, what business brings you here?" At least, this lady Marie couldn't be too bad; at least, she had polite servants.

"I heard that the lady of the house was looking for a new maid, monsieur, and I want to apply for the post, if it's not yet taken?" I answered, trying to sound as polite as possible. He looked me over once more, his dark eyes widening slightly, he had obviously not thought I was the kind of girl to apply for that post. Then suddenly, a kind smile lit his features, and he stepped aside.  
"Of course, mademoiselle, come inside. May I ask for your name? The post is still free, I'm glad to say. I will show you to Madame Dubois, and she will interview you. She handles all such things herself, you see."

"My name is Tayce Martineu, monsieur." I replied, and flushed a little. I had to meet the lady herself? I looked judgingly at the servant, and added:  
"Do I look decent enough to meet…" I was unsure what to call my possible mistress, and decided to use the name the servant had used. "Madame Dubois?"

He smiled slightly.  
"Perhaps you want to wash your hands and your face?", he said. "I had a daughter in your age, and she always said that washing oneself one extra time never hurt."  
"Yes, that would be very nice, thank you." I answered, and wondered slightly if his daughter was dead. I felt sad for him, he couldn't have deserved the loss of a loved one... He wasn't cold anymore, now that I had passed his test. But a look at his thin, but apparently strong frame, told me that he was not person to get on the wrong side with.

He led me through several dark corridors, each one as cold and gloomy as the building had looked from the outside. It seemed to me that Madame Marie Dubois was a person that was very sure of what she liked, and expected everyone to follow her orders. Even in the servant quarters, as I was sure we were in now, was decorated in the same, ugly style. He led me to a small dressing room, with a mirror and a sink. I quickly washed my hands and my face, checked my hair, and my dress, then nodded in answer to the servant's question if I was ready, and followed him through the endless corridors, with doors at each side, and only a few candles lighting them. Even though it was still early afternoon, it was as dark as at night inside the house. It wasn't cold, though, which at least was something to be thankful of.

As we came into bigger and more spacious corridors, with more decorations, I saw more candles, and expensive paintings and rugs. Madame Dubois was apparently rich. We stopped outside a big door, which most likely led into a drawing room. He didn't knock immediately, but instead turned towards me and said softly:  
"Be polite, answer all her questions, and don't speak unless you're spoken to. Don't act like this is your last resort, look sure of yourself, but don't brag. You'll do fine." He said it all very quickly, and smiled. I felt a bit confused by all the instructions, but I knew better than to show it. I just nodded, and whispered a thank you. He lifted a hand to knock on the door, but I stopped him.   
"Wait! Please, monsieur, at least tell me your name. If I'm to work with you in the future, I must know your name." He chuckled softly, then said:  
"Of course, mademoiselle, I forgot. My name is George Alavoin." He smiled. "I hope I will meet you again soon. The best of luck to you. Tayce".

With that, he lifted his hand and knocked on the dark wood of the door. I lifted my gaze and waited.

Nothing happened. I let go of my breath (I had obviously been holding it…) and turned to look at Monsieur Alavoin. He looked confused. Then his dark features were lit up by a knowing smile, and he leaned towards me and whispered:

"Madame Dubois is a bit deaf. You might want to remember that." He smelled of something… Something rather strange. Something I couldn't really place. It reminded me… Reminded me of…

"_MOTHER!", I screamed. She abandoned all rules of society, hiked up her skirts and ran to me, embracing me and holding on like she would never let go. _

"_My little darling… Baby.. Sweetheart." The words of endearment soothed my soul like balm. Mama was here. Nothing could hurt me now. Mama was here. Mama was here. I had repeated the phrase all the time, like a mantra. Mama was here. It had made me keep going, given me courage. Mama was here. _

_I had been staying with an aunt of mine, whose husband drank a lot, and I had accidentally ended up smashing one of my aunt's favourite vases. She had got mad, and thrown me into a broom cupboard. Oh, the darkness.. It stills haunts me. I was only a small girl, five years old at the time. And the darkness almost killed me. I repeated the words _mama will come _all the time. And she came. And then everything was alright. And when she embraced me, after saving me, she smelled like this man did now. Apple blossoms… _

I nodded. Strange, that a man that look so strong and protecting should smell like apple blossoms. I didn't have time to consider it, though, before he knocked again. This time, something happened. Someone spoke. It was a warm voice, quite deep for a woman, but undoubtedly a woman. It was the kind of voice that drove men mad, or had driven. It was like deep red velvet, smooth when you stroked it one way and hard the other. True, age had taken some of the voice's quality, but there was no mistake in that this voice belonged to a dangerous woman. There was an edge of steel to it, a knife hidden among the velvet. Blood stains cannot be seen on red fabric. It frightened me, shook me. That voice, I knew, would change my life. If it was to be a good or bad change, I could not tell. But a change, that was to come. I knew it.

"Enter", the voice said. One word. Just one and yet my mind was lost, and I was helplessly walking through the door. What I saw inside made me freeze with shock. I had expected a beautiful woman, but what I saw… Her face was marred with terrible scars, one of her eyes white and useless. Why didn't monsieur Alavoin warn me! I could have used that more than the information that she was deaf! Only the faintest shadow remained of what had once been extreme, and fatal beauty.

_How could a woman like her live with this_? I asked myself. It must be unbearable, to look in a mirror and see the constant reminder of what she had lost.

"Go on, dear girl. Go on." She coaxed softly. Oh, heaven, her voice!

Let me explain to you. I have always had a thing with voices. I am myself a hopeless singer, and not much inclined to enjoy music. But I enjoy voices. My mother always tried to warn me not to be mislead by the voice of a stranger.  
"That will be your fall, Tayce, love. Be careful." She told me. I didn't listen. Miguel, the one who had put me in this situation, without his voice, I would never have fallen in love with him. As it had been, all I wanted was to hear just another small word from his lips, another sigh, another laugh… Even a harsh word, or an insult could do. I suppose you could compare the satisfaction I got from nice voices to having sex, or something along those lines.

Of course, I hadn't really tried love-making yet, no matter what Miguel said. My father was a catholic priest, and my mother nobility, even though not high-nobility. I would never think of losing my virginity before marriage. It would be too shameful, and would completely ruin my marriage possibilities. It is a metaphor.

I walked towards the hideous creature, sitting in the chair, elegant hands folded in her lap. She wore a lovely green velvet dress, fitting perfectly to her corseted frame. She could have been a queen, despite her face. I started to seat myself in the chair opposite Madame Dubois, but something flickered in her one brown eye. I decided it was better to stand. The flicker returned. Anger? I shuddered. Something was not right with this woman. There was a… cruelty, in her destroyed features, that frightened me. I suddenly realized what she wanted me to do. With my already ruddy face burning even redder with shame, I curtsied quickly, before looking Madame Dubois straight in the eyes. Eye.

"Ah, you're the girl applying for the maid position?" She arched what was left of a delicate eyebrow.  
"I must say, you do not look like one of the _people_. Your back is too straight, you neck is too proud… And such white hands. Tell me, dear girl, have you ever worked in your life before?" A little smile crossed her lips, and she looked at me, waiting for my answer.

"Ehm. Well…" What should I say! I couldn't really tell her my story, or tell her that I had no experience at all…Ah, well. Something in between then.

"I am a very quick learner and…" She interrupted me.

"Speak up, girl, I cannot hear you!" I blushed, feeling extremely ashamed that I had disappointed this… Creature, with the heavenly voice.

"Eh… Madame, and… I don't require much money. I need somewhere to stay, some food, and perhaps… a few francs…" My voice died away. I didn't like the look in her eyes. What I just had said was stupid. Idiotic. But done's done. The dice was thrown. Now, I just had to await my judgement.

"Not much money, you say. Tell, my dear, did you run away from home?" She laughed, but the sight of her scarred face contorting was unpleasant. _How did she know? How had she guessed!_ "Oh no, no, don't look away, it is nothing to be ashamed of, I assure you. So tell me… Did you run away from home, _Mademoiselle_?"

"No, Madame. I didn't. My parents… They are dead." I straightened my back, trying to remain stoic. I was of as high station as she. Probably higher. Or perhaps not. But she WOULD not look down on me. She laughed again, quietly. The laugher slid from her throat like a silk scarf falls to the floor, softly, slowly and so utterly graceful that it hurts to look at. I couldn't tell if it was a laugh meant to hurt or to soothe me.

"Did they indeed? That is very sad, mademoiselle. In that case, I have no other choice than to hire you. Now, go away. George will show you around. We will speak later tonight. Not now, I have a headache." She closed her eyes and massaged her temples with long, slender fingers with nails painted a blood red .

I just stood there, looking at here, dumbfounded. She just… Gave me the job?

"T-t-thank you, Madame D-dubois", I stuttered. She opened her eyes, EYE, and peered at me, curiously, like a cat stalking a bird.

"And girl, what is your name?"

"Tayce Martineu, Madame." She frowned.

"You certainly don't have a servant's manners, _Tayce." _She thought for a moment. "But it doesn't matter. I will teach you. I'm sure it will prove to be a fine… amusement.  
Now, leave me."

I stared at her for a second, made a wobbly curtsy, and walked as fast as I could towards the door.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––**-**

**I adore reviews, like all other writers. Love it, hate it? Tell me!**


	6. The morning bell

**I'm not really pleased with this, it's a bit blunt and not very well written, in my opinion. I'm a bit stressed, I want to get things to move faster, but at the same time, I don't want to hurry this.. Well, we'll see.  
**

**Disclaimer: This chapter belongs entirely to me. But generally, most things belong to the three Phantom giants:)**

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

**Dingdingdingdingding**

_Oh, little birdies, singing. How v-veeery l-l-lovel...y..._

**Dingdingdingdingdingding**

_Oh, how I long for my swing in our little garden... Mother always said itwas unlady like to ride a swing, so I stopped..._

**DINGDINGDINGDING**

_Funny, that sounds like the little bell beside my bed... The one I call my maid with..._

_For heaven's sake, why don't anyone answer that! That's what you have servants for! Let me sleep!_

**DING DING DING DING**

_But this doesn't feel like my bed... In fact... Not at all. And that bell isn't sounding like it's ringing somewhere else... It's ringing in here!_

And I flew up. I was the maid! Someone was ringing for **me!** I shook my head. I knew nothing of a maid's duties… Good heaven's, I didn't even know how to dress **myself** properly! In that precise moment, I realized just what I had set out to do, and how utterly foolish I had been. Why did I leave? I could have explained everything, Miguel was not that important a person that everyone listened to him. Even though my reputation would been tarnished, I would've managed! I had been so utterly foolish, so extremely stupid , so brainless, so thick, so, so… I couldn't even find the right words to describe it! I couldn't do this… I just couldn't! 

And I couldn't return either. I knew that. Unless I returned and got Miguel to marry me, there was no hope for me… What would my dear old papa have said? He must look down on me from his heaven and think he had raised a bad daughter…

For now, I was stuck at my place at Madame Dubois's…

Speaking of her… She frightened me. And yet, I felt very drawn to her, a butterfly drawn to the poisonous meat-eating flower…

I jumped up, and stumbled over my own feet, falling hard to the floor in an undignified heap. I crawled around the room, my cool mind taking over and forcing my body to move to where my brain knew I had placed my clothes the night before. My fingers blankly refused to button my dress properly and the bell made it impossible for me to function clearly. The only thing

I was sure of was that I had to get to Madame Dubois's room, NOW.

I tripped once more over my small feet, and darted a quick glance to my little mirror before moving towards the door. Lovely. I had hoped that my head would've changed colour during the night, and that I, by God's mercy (I _did_ deserve it!) had become tall and willowy. But alas, no. Still red hair, still small sausage like fingers, still the **SAME** **_bloody_** non-existent curves. I looked like a... A plump Chinese vase. Yuk. Isn't there a rule that nobility always should be beautiful and why did I have to be the exception that confirms the rule! I never harmed anybody, really. I only did what I was entitled to. It wasn't like I was cruel... I didn't beat my maids, I didn't scream at and disobeyed my parents... Most of the time, at least...

With these depressing thoughts in my head, I rushed off in search of Madame Dubois's room. I noted that the walls where marked here and there with strange indentures, almost as if someone had hit the wall repeatedly with a hard object. Otherwise, the house was beautiful. I couldn't imagine how much money it must've cost to build and entertain this... Millions of francs, surely. Where did the Dubois family get that kind of money?

And my new mistress… Was she married? She must have been, at least. She was after all called _madame_. Was she a widow? Did she have children? What horrible accident had scarred her face? Did she had any relatives?

So many questions, and so few answers. This was a bit of a challenge. I had never heard of her, or her family before. I should have, if they were as rich as this house made me believe. Yet the name seemed somewhat familiar, though I couldn't really explain how.. I shrugged. I had usually heard about everything at least once before, so I was used to the feeling. I'd probably remember later.

Trying to disregard the unpleasant feeling of wearing an apron, I hurried down the corridors. I was very, very late, and I dreaded the scolding I would surely get from my mistress. What if she threw me out? I shuddered, and decided not to forget my place again.

**Oh, I didn't like this at all… Any comments, advice, anything. Tell me, I WANT to improve. **


End file.
